


Tears On the Battlefield

by Alassante (AliKat7)



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Gen, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-01
Updated: 2019-07-01
Packaged: 2020-05-31 15:40:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 661
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19429006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AliKat7/pseuds/Alassante
Summary: Some of the House of Finwë prepares for The Final Battle.





	Tears On the Battlefield

**Author's Note:**

> Written in 2010 for B2ME 2010 challenge - The books of J.R.R. Tolkien are largely about war. Write a story, poem, or create an artwork set on the eve of a war.

“Do you have your sword this time, Amrod?” Curufin muttered.

“One time! One time I forgot and I’ll never hear the end of it!”

Caranthir shook his head. “Maybe Maeglin can help you remember your sword this time.”

“No, only his father’s sword,” Maedhros grinned.

“I heard that…”

“No one ever said you were deaf, Maeglin. Just not too bright,” Fingon retorted.

“Maedhros, tell your girlfriend to shut his trap before I shut it for him,” Maeglin seethed

Maedhros turned to eye his cousin and, after a few moments of The Stare™, Maeglin muttered his apologies and slid behind Amras.

“Are you girls done with the arguing? I’m pretty sure that Morgoth won’t wait…”

“Curufin, hand me my sword.”

“Here catch!” Curufin joked and pretended to throw it to Maedhros’ right hand.

“Do you think we’ll ever go anywhere without the whole lot of you making me look bad?” Celegorm slid his hand through his hair before admiring himself in the reflection of his sword.

Pointing at his brother’s reflection, Caranthir chuckled. “Can we possibly make you look worse?”

“Yeah, Celegorm, that hairstyle is so First Age.” Amrod laughed.

Fëanor growled under his breath. “I’ve listened to all of you bicker for an eternity now. Shut up or I’ll stab you myself. You sound like a bunch of little kids…”

“Oh, give it a rest Fëanáro,” Fingolfin muttered.

“Don’t start with me, you little pansy. Just because you’re still a little bitter about some ice…”

“Some ice? Some ICE?!?!”

“Please can’t you two get along for The Final Battle. Think of it as a family bonding experience.” Maglor suggested.

Fingolfin chuckled. “Your boy has been wandering the beach way too long brother.”

“Ignore him or he’ll try to make us group hug again,” Fëanor replied.

“I feel sick.” Celebrimbor did look a little green.

Curufin glared at him. “Oh go make your woman some pretty jewelry already. No one even wanted you to come. And take that damn mutt with you. No, not Huan…Maeglin!”

“Well if they don’t have to go, I’m not going either,” Amras perked up then promptly received a smack on the back of the head from both Curufin and Caranthir.

“Oh good, I see you’re all here now,” Legolas said. “Now…Manwe said you’d be with me but I thought I’d send you ahead of the rest of us…like scouts. Yeah, like scouts or something!”

“I can smell the Balrogs from here,” Maedhros pointed out and Fingon took a step back.

“Sorry. That was me,” Amrod muttered, as his cheeks turned as red as his hair.

“How did we end up following this guy? Who is he anyway?” Fëanor looked towards his brother.

“You know…he’s the guy who screamed like a girl when he saw the Balrog in Moria?” Caranthir pointed out. “You know… the ‘Ai! A Balrog!’ guy.”

“Wait…Thranduil’s son? Grandson of Oropher? No, I do not follow the Sindar anywhere except to the closest tavern.” Celegorm shook his head. “No way. No how.”

“Please just don’t kill him. I’m tired of the Halls of Waiting. Who knew they wouldn’t be co-ed?” Amras pouted.

“If you don’t all shut up, I’m swear I’m going to…”

“Fëanor, didn’t you learn about swearing?” The Voice of Doom sounded in the distance.

“Sorry! After all these ages, I’d think you’d understand. These kids are making me insane!”

“Oh yeah, father. Blame it on us. It’s all our fault you’re insane,” Maedhros retorted dryly.

Fëanor glared at Maedhros for what seemed like an age of time. “You’re so passive aggressive, Maitimo. You know that?”

“Oh Valar, who left Fëanor alone with the self-help books again?” Mandos asked. “Morgoth might stand a chance.”

“You’re the one who told me to get in touch with my inner child,” Fëanor sniffed.

“Are you crying? There’s no crying in battle!”

As Fëanor’s sons stared in open mouth shock, Fingolfin chuckled evilly. “Do you want to hug it out now, Fëanáro?”

**Author's Note:**

> A/N Sorry...so so sorry. I blame Ignoble Bard for making me think of the 'Ai! A Balrog' comment. Oh, and Haleth for saying this was funny.


End file.
